


your fault

by Slice_of_Apple



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Eren Yeager, Angry Jean Kirstein, Bickering, Comfort, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay conversion therapy mentioned, Homophobia Mentioned, M/M, Romance, Sleepy Cuddles, Sweet, Sweet Eren Yeager, Sweet Jean Kirstein, adorable idiots, gentle cuddles, very sweet, wilderness therapy program
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-11
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-03-07 21:33:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26954407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: High school seniors Jean and Eren are partners for an overnight campout during their wilderness therapy camp. Jean has a crappy tent and a crappy sleeping bag. Insults and sleepy cuddles ensue. Cuddles only.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager
Comments: 8
Kudos: 135





	your fault

“It’s _your_ fault, Kirstein.” The words fall out of Eren’s mouth before he can stop them. He’s so frustrated. He can’t believe he got stuck with Jean Kirstein for this stupid overnight. Jean, with his scowling face, and his long nose, and his fucking _attitude._ Yes, Eren feels the irony of himself being annoyed by someone else’s attitude, but he can’t help it. Jean is such a _tool_.

“Wait a minute. How is it _my_ fault? This is clearly _your_ fault, you jerk. _You’re_ the one who ripped my tent.”

“The shitty tent that _you_ couldn’t pitch. Along with the compass _you_ couldn’t read, which means we hiked an extra _three miles_.”

Jean has the grace to blush.

“How am I supposed to know how to do that stuff?”

“Because you’re at a fucking wilderness survival camp! That’s literally all we’ve been doing for this past week.”

“So?” Jean says.

“Haven’t you paid any attention _at all_?”

“I just have to live through another three weeks, and then I’m out of here. It doesn’t matter if I pay attention or not.”

“I don’t think you _will_ live through another three weeks without opening your fucking ears. It’s wilderness _survival_ camp. We have to survive for three days on our own at the end. Remember?”

Jean shrugs.

They are sitting at opposite ends of Eren’s tent, their feet almost touching in the middle.

“Don’t you want to learn this stuff anyway?” asks Eren curiously. “It’s kind of cool. I mean, how are you going to survive the apocalypse without some wilderness training?”

“It’ll be the apocalypse, Jaeger,” Jean says pointedly. “ _No one_ will survive.”

“ _I_ will, Kirstein,” says Eren smugly. “In my nice little tent in the middle of the fucking wilderness. That’s where you’ll find me. _Surviving_.”

Jean doesn’t respond. It's going to be a long evening. They’ve already eaten dinner, cleaned up, the tent is pitched. There’s really nothing else to do but what until this torture is over. Tomorrow at noon. When they head back to the center. For more torture.

“Why are you here, anyway? At this camp,” Eren finally asks, his curiosity aroused.

“None of your business,” says Jean. He adds, “I bet I know why you’re here, though.”

“Yeah?” asks Eren, a challenge in his voice. “Why am I here, then?”

“Too many fights!” says Jean immediately.

Eren blushes.

“I’m right, aren’t I?” Jean smirks, but he already knows. The blush gave it away.

“Yeah, actually, you are. I got into too many fights.”

“I knew it – with your winning personality and all!” Jean gloats.

_My_ winning personality, thinks Eren, affronted. Jean is the biggest asshole he’s ever met. Just look at that smirk _expanding_ on his stupid face!

It’s his desire to wipe the smirk off that has him continue speaking, even though he is really, really trying not to. Not to talk about It, not to hear about It, not to think about It.

“Because my mom died a few months ago.”

It works. Jean’s faced is wiped smooth with shock. Was it worth it? To spill his guts to this dick just to get even with him? Eren isn’t sure. Jean is sure to make some stupid comment. Then Eren will have to hit him, and it will end how it always does, with Eren getting kicked out of even this fucking wilderness therapy camp. As usual, Eren didn’t think things through properly.

But to his surprise, Jean says, “Shit. I’m sorry, man. How?” He has a look of real sympathy on his face.

Maybe it’s the look that prompts Eren to tell the truth. “Some weird cancer. No one knew what it was, and by the time she was in the hospital it was too late to do anything. She died three days later.”

Jean gives a low whistle. He looks awed.

“Did she suffer?” he asks, with surprising gentleness.

“Yeah,” says Eren shortly. The sight of his mother’s gaunt face, grimacing against the pain, bruises up and down her arms, is etched forever on his brain.

“Shit like that shouldn’t happen,” Jean bursts out hotly. Eren is surprised at the anger in his voice, in the tight lines of his face. What’s it to Jean, anyway? He didn’t know Eren’s mother. A strange feeling crawls up Eren’s chest, and he quickly spins the conversation around.

“What about you?”

Jean looks puzzled.

“Why are you here? Aside from your burning desire to hone your wilderness survival skills, that is?” Jean’s lips tip up into a quick grin before it’s swallowed away.

“Well, of course, all else pales in comparison to my passion for the great outdoors. Nonetheless, it might surprise you to learn that I had no interest in coming here whatsoever.”

“I’m shocked,” says Eren, his hand to his heart. “Shocked!”

“I was forced to come,” says Jean a little more grimly.

“I _know_ you were forced to come, you idiot,” says Eren. “No one here woke up one morning and decided they _wanted_ to come here. Unless it was that freak Annie.”

When Jean doesn’t keep talking, he presses. “Why did you _have_ to come?”  


There is a silence. Eren doesn’t think Jean will answer. Eren isn’t sure why he wants to know. But he does. Something about Jean has sparked his interest.

He’s about to resort to whining “ _I_ told _you_ ,” when Jean says, “My odious grandmother is making me.”

Eren only lifts his eyebrows quizzically.

“It’s a stupid, pathetic story,” says Jean.

“We have all evening and nothing else to do,” Eren points out.

Again, silence. This time, Eren waits it out.

“My grandmother saw a picture of me. My hair,” Jean points specifically to the long pink strands, as if Eren didn’t already know what he was talking about. “And – and one of me and my boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend, now. Kissing.”

Eren’s eyebrows pinch together sympathetically.

“My mom thinks my aunt sent them to her on purpose. To get my dad disinherited.”

Eren isn’t putting the pieces together here, and his confusion must show on his face.

“I told you it was a pathetic story. If my grandmother thinks I'm _permanently_ gay, she’ll disinherit my dad for being such a lame ass father as to raise a fruitcake son. He _is_ a lame father, of course, because he’s so worried about not inheriting her fucking money that he goes along with it.” A switch seems to have been turned on, and Jean can’t stop talking, the words tumbling out like a waterfall.

“So, I – I have to go to gay conversion camp this month, and – and Marco dumped me and I have to switch high schools just – just for senior year, and – and the new one doesn’t even have a fucking _arts_ program!” Jean’s chest is heaving, and his eyes are suspiciously bright. He takes a minute to blink, his lips pressed tightly together. Eren is surprised when he eventually continues speaking.

“My mom was so pissed at my dad, I thought she was actually going to clobber him through the phone. But he threatened to sue her for custody. If they come after her legally, not only will she go bankrupt, I’d end up having to go live with him anyway. Not that he wants me there, really. With his new family. He's just using me to threaten my mom.”

Jean was right. It is a pathetic story. Straight out of an after-school special. Eren can understand – kind of – why Jean has a bit of an _attitude_ problem.

“So why aren’t you?”

“Why aren’t I _what_ , Jaeger?”

“At a gay conversion camp? Because you are clearly _here_.”

Jean grins. “As far as my grandmother knows, I _am_ at gay conversion camp.”

“Won’t she just look at the web site and see that you’re not?”

“She doesn’t have the information. My dad refused to give it to her, for some reason. But he doesn’t want any details, either, so that he can claim that it was all my mom’s doing if my grandmother ever finds out. He’s such a coward. The only thing he did, because my mom made him, was order the supplies for the trip. Which is why they're all crap.”

He kicks uselessly at his shitty, ripped tent.

Eren can only agree.

There is a long silence.

“So, who wins?” Jean eventually asks. “The shittier backstory award?”

“You do,” says Eren, at the same time that Jean points his index finger straight at Eren's heart.

“No way,” says Eren with certainty. “It’s definitely you, man.”

“Wrong!” counters Jean. “The grim reaper _always_ wins!”

“It does not!” says Eren, his voice slightly raised. “Not being accepted for who you are is worse than death! _You_ win.”

“No _way_ do I win!” Jean’s voice is now heated. “A _dead mother_ totally defeats a gutless father and an evil, homophobic grandmother.”

“Are you kidding me?” says Eren, starting to feel seriously pissed off. “ _Gay conversion therapy_? That’s right out of the Middle Ages. Or maybe even earlier, like the Triassic Era. Lizard brains organize that shit. That’s worth _way_ more points.”

“But I’m not even _at_ gay conversion camp. A mother dying in three fucking days of obscure cancer definitely trumps _fake_ gay conversion therapy. I mean, if my mom kicked the bucket, I’d be pretty fucking devastated! She’s the only one on my team!”

At this, Eren lets out an angry puff of air. “It’s not fun,” he admits, not sure why he’s doing so. “And my dad is a walking zombie. It’s pretty rough.” He adds, primly, “But even as a zombie, he supports my sexual preference one hundred percent. He always has.” 

“You’re… gay?” asks Jean, clearly too startled by the revelation to take offense at Eren’s annoying tone.

“Why so surprised?” asks Eren, raising an eyebrow.

“I didn’t – you look – “ mumbles Jean, gesturing feebly at Eren.

“Stereotype much?” says Eren drily.

Jean blushes.

“Want to play cards?” asks Eren, after a suitably long silence.

“Um. Okay,” Jean answers dubiously.

They end up playing for over an hour: Blackjack, gin rummy, Crazy Eights, even Go Fish, War, and a few rounds of Solitaire (together). Long past the fall of darkness, until they are using their flashlights, propped up on pillows. It’s nice, though. Easy. For some unknown reason, Eren feels more relaxed than he has in a long time. He wonders if he might even be able to sleep tonight.

Eren is indeed drifting off to sleep when Jean sits up, yanks open his backpack, and pulls out his jacket and his sweatshirt. He piles them on top of his too-small, too-thin sleeping bag, then lies back down. The extra clothes immediately slide off, and a war begins, between Jean’s ingenuity and the slippery surface of his sleeping bag. The sleeping bag wins. Over and over. Annoyingly loudly.

Jean gives up with a sigh (also loud) and starts shivering uncontrollably, sending (loud) rustling vibrations throughout the tent every few seconds.

In fact, every time Eren feels like he might finally fall sleep, Jean shivers massively and jolts him wide awake.

After Jean sighs (loudly) for the four hundredth time, Eren sits up. He holds open the flap of his sleeping bag.

“Get in,” he says angrily.

“What?” squawks Jean? “No fucking way.”

“I am not staying awake the entire night because some miserly, asshole dad bought a cheap, nonfunctional sleeping bag so that the wayward child he is sacrificing for money would freeze to death _so fucking loudly_.”

Jean is too cold to put up much of a fight. Luckily, Eren’s sleeping bag is huge, and they can both fit in it with room to spare. 

“How is _this_ the right kind of sleeping bag?” Jean grumbles. “It’s like a freaking blimp.”

“I overheat at night,” shrugs Eren. “It’s the right kind of sleeping bag for me.”

Eren does seem to be giving off an unusual amount of body heat. Like a furnace. It is extremely nice for Jean’s cold body, and especially for his frozen fingers and toes. He wonders idly if has frostbite.

“Do you think I have frostbite?” he asks hazily, the warmth loosening his tongue.

Eren snorts. “It’s only about 50 degrees outside!” he says.

“What does _this_ feel like, then?” Jean growls, planting icy fingers directly onto Eren’s neck.

Eren screeches and bats Jean’s hand away.

“Don’t do that! And keep your hands to yourself, you fucking moron! Your invitation in here is dependent on good behavior!”

The threat is enough to make Jean withdraw and wriggle himself as far away from Eren as he can. He doesn’t want to jeopardize his spot. It’s so much more comfortable in here than freezing his ass off in the stupid, useless sleeping bag that his dad bought him.

The day of hiking, his renewed anger at his father and his grandmother, at the whole fucking situation, and the strain of his long-winded confession to a virtual stranger all combine to make Jean tired as hell. It’s not long until he is fast asleep, Eren following suit almost immediately.

The first time Eren wakes up, it’s because something is tickling his ankles. It takes him a moment to realize that it’s Jean, his still-cold toes worming their way between Eren’s legs. He can hear Jean’s even breathing; he seems to be asleep. His feet, apparently, are acting of their own accord, independently seeking out warmth. And are those Jean’s hands, trying to burrow under Eren’s back?

Eren thinks that it would suck to be cold when you’re trying to sleep. It would also suck to have such a shitty, chicken-hearted father and a truly frightening grandmother. He is reminded of how upset Jean sounded when he heard about Eren’s mother suffering before she died. Eren thinks how nice it would be for Jean to be toasty warm and comfortable, all the way down to his toes. He scoots over, right up next to Jean. He throws his leg over Jean’s, wrapping Jean’s feet in his own. It’s actually nice, snug up against Jean’s cool body, their legs tangled together. Refreshing. He drifts back to sleep.

The first time Jean wakes up, he thinks that he is back home, and Marco has stayed overnight. He immediately realizes that this is the wrong impression, however. For one thing, the bed is way too hard. And lumpy. It is, in fact, full of hard lumps. For another, he doesn’t hear Marco’s distinctive snores. For a third, Marco dumped him, the asshole, so there is no way in hell Marco would be here in bed with him. But the most telling detail is that the body next to him has a completely different smell than Marco’s. Earthy, sweaty, with a hint of sweetness to it. His eyes fly open. Eren Jeager! The memory of falling asleep in Eren’s sleeping bag washes over him.

Once he is over his shock, he finds himself pleasantly surprised. Despite the lumps, it is wonderfully warm and cozy in here. In fact, he had been dreaming about roasting marshmallows over a fire, which he had done way back at the science sleepover in fourth grade. He had loved those marshmallows: crispy brown on the outside, gooey sugary goodness on the inside. In the dream, he had ten marshmallows on a stick and was roasting each one to perfection.

Eren is right up against him, kind of leaning over him, even, but his head is hanging off Jean’s shoulder at what seems like it would be an uncomfortable angle, tilted backwards, half in the air.

Still in the glow of this fabulous dream, Jean wiggles his arm under Eren’s neck and pulls Eren so that his head is resting firmly on Jean’s chest. He wraps his other arm around Eren so that he won’t slide off.

Eren is a wonderfully warm, reassuring weight against him. Jean bends his head down and rubs his cheek in Eren’s hair. It is thick and surprisingly soft. That’s where the sweet smell is coming from, too. He tightens his arms around Eren’s bulk and closes his eyes. He is back asleep within minutes.

The second time Eren wakes up, he is dreaming of the ocean. In his dream, he is lying on a float, blue sky overhead, endless expanse of water all around him. The float is rocking gently back and forth on long, shallow ocean swells.

Eren hasn’t had such a pleasant dream in months. These days, he is far more used to waking up from the nightmare of his mother’s face disintegrating into dust. It’s a nightmare that usually keeps him awake until morning. He much prefers the dream ocean, and he would like to sink back into it. There is a nice weight on his back, too – heavy and comforting. He snuggles deeper into the gently rocking float, and drifts back to sleep.

The second time Jean wakes up, it is because something sharp is digging into him. This time, he remembers where he is right away. Eren is still resting on his chest, but Eren’s arms are now around Jean, holding Jean, too. The sharp thing is pressing into his ribs, and Jean gently lifts his arm to relieve the pressure. It’s something tied around Eren’s neck. Jean’s fingers follow the string. Metal. A weird shape. A _key_. Jean carefully moves it so it’s not stuck between them. Ah, that’s better. He slides lazily back into sleep.

The third time Eren wakes up, it is from a snuffling grunt, right near his ear. A sliver of moonlight shooting through the tent offers enough light for him to get a clear view. Someone’s chin is right above his. Someone’s chest is right under him. Someone’s arm is lying heavily across his back. Startled, Eren lifts his head up.

It’s Jean! Jean is all outlined in silvery moonlight, and he looks like some otherworldly creature, an elf perhaps, all sharp cheekbones and pointed chin. Eren’s breath catches in his throat at the sight, so close. The view, coupled with the warm, soothing weight of Jean all around him, is irresistible. He settles back down into Jean’s embrace, sighing happily as he falls back asleep.

The next time, they wake up together. It is dawn, the early light seeping softly into the tent. Jean is curled up on his side, facing the tent wall, Eren coiled around his back.

Jean wakes up slowly from the best sleep he’s had in a long time. There is an arm across his waist, but it’s not Marco’s familiar arm; this arm is lighter, with gold-tipped hairs on it. It is only a fraction of a second before he remembers where he is, and whose arm it is. In that time, he feels Eren stiffen and draw in a confused breath. Eren is also, apparently, awake.

Still dazed with sleep, all Jean can think is that it’s so cozy like this, he’s slept so well, better than in months, maybe even years. Eren is the perfect combination of soft yet firm, and he smells really nice. In fact, it is utterly lovely and relaxing to have Eren draped over him in this fashion.

As he's thinking these pleasant thoughts, he feels Eren start to carefully withdraw his tense arm.

“Leave it,” says Jean, his voice rough with sleep. “If you want.” He lifts his own arm and slides it over Eren’s, linking their fingers together. He gives Eren’s hand a light squeeze and tucks Eren’s arm closer to his body. He holds it loosely, though, in a grip Eren can easily escape from, if he wants to. “It’s nice,” he adds drowsily.

Jean feels Eren’s body relax, melt back into him. He lets out a pleased huff. His chest feels strangely buoyant, like it will float up out of this tent, hover in the air, light as a feather. 

They both fall back into a dreamless sleep until they reawaken two hours later, refreshed and ready for a new day.


End file.
